


Repossession

by Spamberguesa



Series: Obsession [9]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, at least they realize it, caring creeper tauriel, caring creeper thranduil, these two are still a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spamberguesa/pseuds/Spamberguesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Thranduil’s sanity surfaces for air, Legolas is finally clued in, and Tauriel nearly does something very stupid with the best of intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repossession

In which Thranduil’s sanity surfaces for air, Legolas is finally clued in, and Tauriel nearly does something very stupid with the best of intentions.

After the feast, the King and Tauriel were more often seen together. Each had their own daily tasks, and saw to them faithfully, but most afternoons they would wander the halls or grounds, arm in arm. It became more and more obvious that his unhealthy obsession was beginning to be matched.

It was unnerving, but the longer it went on, more people began to simply accept it. Lady Silwen was both horrified and infuriated to find that her husband was one of them. 

“ _How_ can you condone this?” she raged, glaring at him across the bed. And she had been so ready to retire for the night in peace.

Arphenion shook his head, unbuttoning his tunic. His dark hair fell down his back in a smooth wave, and she wanted to tear it out. “The King is much easier to deal with now,” he said. “He has not flown into a rage in weeks. Tauriel seems content enough – indeed, if someone tried to separate them now, she would object as strenuously as he. You should never have sent Celebdor to Lothlórien,” he added, folding the garment and draping it over the back of an armchair. “Lady Galadriel’s interference will not end well.”

Silwen stared at him, speechless. “ _How_ can you say that?”

“Either she will fail, and risk outright war, or she will succeed, and destroy them both. Have you given no thought at all to what might happen to Tauriel? The King is older, and has endured more loss – and, most importantly, has his son. Tauriel has no one, and if the guards are to believed, fell in love with a _Dwarf_ who is now dead. What she has with the King might not be anything healthy, but it is _something_. Take it away and she has nothing – and with nothing, she may well Fade.”

Silwen…had not thought of that, though she should have. She had heard of Tauriel’s Dwarf through Amaniel, though she had not really thought it serious. If he truly had been her One, she would never find some nice ellon among the guards, which had been Silwen’s hope. That she would go about her life as a guard again, and everyone would go about theirs without worrying over her.

Well. There was nothing to be done about it _now_. “What will happen, will happen,” she said, climbing into bed. “You never know – perhaps the Lady maybe be able to turn this into something a bit more…healthy.” Though Silwen highly doubted that. She could see no way this would not end in tragedy.

\--

Celebdor had been enjoying his amble through the sunshine, as he had for the last three weeks, when he spotted a group on foot in the distance. Edain, by the look of them, clad as Rangers – and with them, thank Eru, was Prince Legolas.

Perhaps Celebdor would not be the messenger to get shot after all.

He spurred his horse, hailing them as he rode, and inwardly winced when he saw the open curiosity in the Prince’s face. Lady Silwen had given him strict instructions on what to do if he saw the wayward royal, and quite frankly, he was more afraid of her than the Prince.

“Celebdor,” Legolas said, obviously pleased as well as curious. “What brings you so far from home?”

Celebdor winced when he dismounted. “I apologize in advance, my lord, but I am under orders from my Lady. What I am to say comes from her mouth, not my own.”

He hauled back and punched the Prince as hard as he could, the force so considerable it actually made Legolas stagger backward. “I quote, ‘You little brat, how could you be stupid enough to run off and leave Tauriel to your father’s dubious mercy. Come home at once, and expect multiple beatings when you do.’ I am sorry, my lord, but I don t want to think about what my Lady would do, should I disobey.”

The fury in the Prince’s face died instantly, and all the color drained from it. “Tauriel?” he whispered. “ _My father_ has Tauriel? _How?_ ”

“She came back with us after the battle,” Celebdor said wretchedly. “The King locked her in his rooms for six months. Now she is at liberty, but returns to him of her own volition at the end of each day. She is…changed.”

“But…she was banished,” Legolas said faintly. “I thought…”

“You thought _what_ , my Prince?” Celebdor demanded, his ire rising. “Where else was she to go? The ruin of Dale? _Erebor?_ Did you _really_ think your father would not take advantage of your absence? Tauriel tried to kill herself – and very nearly succeeded, according to the healers – and now, somehow, she seems content with…whatever it is she has with your father. It is not…carnal…but I believe – we _all_ believe – that only makes it more insidious. Lady Silwen thinks you need to come home, but frankly, at this point, I do not know how much good it will do. She dispatched me to speak with Lady Galadriel, but I am unsure how much even _she_ could help.”

By now Legolas looked beyond sick with guilt, but Celebdor could find little sympathy for him. _Everyone_ blamed this on his absence, for he had, like all of them, been well aware of the King’s obsession with Tauriel. And _now_ look where they were.

Legolas cast a stricken look at one of the Rangers – a young man with shaggy dark hair and unusually piercing grey eyes. “Strider, I must go.”

“We will _all_ go,” the man said firmly.

“I think that unwise,” Celebdor said. “The King will not harm the Prince because he is the Prince. I do not know what he would do to the rest of you, and I do not wish to find out. Where Tauriel is concerned, he is…not reasonable.”

“Celebdor is right,” Legolas said. “Do not send for Lady Galadriel yet. I would rather others not know about this, unless we have no other choice.”

“Yes, my Prince,” Celebdor said, incredibly relieved. “Take my horse. You will be faster without me.”

Legolas leapt up onto the mare, and urged her as fast as she would go, pale hair streaming in the wind.

“How bad is it?” the man – Strider – asked.

“Likely irreparable,” Celebdor sighed. “Certainly on the King’s side, but possibly on Tauriel’s as well. I do not think she loves him, but she feels _something_ for him, and we have all known for weeks that she would not willingly part from him. Otherwise we would have spirited her away as soon as she was released. Lady Galadriel could likely heal her, but getting her to Lothlórien would be impossible. There is not a one of us Tauriel cannot best in combat, but the Prince is right – news of this should not get out, so I will thank you all to keep this to yourself for now.”

He sighed. “I still do not know how the Prince could be stupid enough to leave her. She truly had nowhere else to go, and she was sick with grief. She could not have been easier prey, and the King is nothing if not a predator where she is concerned.”

“What will happen, if you separate them?” Strider asked, his eyes grave.

Celebdor sighed again. “In truth, I do not know. The King is already mad, in a sense, but Tauriel…she has no family. She has lost her love. I think she is so content with the King because she has nothing else.”

“Then find her something,” the man said firmly, “or she will never leave him. If there is nothing else for her to want, she will not give up the only thing she has.”

_Find what?_ Celebdor wondered. Her heart was buried within Erebor, and resuming her post as captain would not be enough. “Even if we do find something – even if we somehow break the King’s hold on her mind – he would never let her go. She would have to leave the Woodland Realm, and that she would not do. She might have nothing else here, but it is her home. It is all she has ever known. Should she be taken to Lothlórien or Imladris, she would have to be imprisoned there, for she would not stay. I can see no way at all for this to end well.”

“Nor I,” Strider said grimly.

\--

Legolas rode as though all the werewolves of Morgoth pursued him.

_How_ could he have been so stupid? He had avoided all thought of Tauriel since the battle, for it was too painful, and look what had come of it. Celebdor was right – where else had she to go? Nowhere at all. Bard would have welcomed her, had she actually _asked_ , but she would have been too mired in grief to think of it. She really had been perfect prey for his father, and he should have seen it. He should have _thought_ , thought of something beyond his own desire for escape.

He had escaped, and she had been imprisoned. And he did not think he would ever forgive himself, no matter how this ended.

\--

Tauriel’s day had been long, and she was more than glad to meet up with Thranduil – and his wine – at the end of it.

“The new recruits are afraid of me,” she complained, shedding both boots and tunic before joining him on the divan, “and I have no idea why. I have not done anything exceptionally violent lately.”

“Well, you _did_ threaten to kill me, not so long ago,” he said dryly, handing her a glass of wine. From the shine in his eyes, he had had more than one himself already.

She snorted. “I did no such thing, and you know it,” she said, taking the glass as she sat on the divan, legs tucked under her. “And even if I had in truth, I _live_ with you. Clearly, I have not held a grudge.”

“Yes, well, you should have,” he said, drawing her close, nearly spilling her wine in the process. “No doubt they question your sanity.”

_That_ she could well believe. “Why can no one understand that we are content?” she grumbled, sipping her wine. The burn of it was welcome in her throat.

“Because by all rights, we should not be,” Thranduil said, stroking her hair. “By all rights, you ought to have murdered me in my sleep by now.”

“That would be messy,” Tauriel said, downing half her glass at one go before tucking her head beneath his chin. “And no fun at all. Who would mock Lord Falchon with me, and rub my back at the end of a long day?”

“There might be many,” he said, wrapping his left arm around her with blatant possessiveness.

“Well, I do not _want_ many,” she said, setting aside her wine so she could return the embrace, just as possessively. “You are _my_ Thranduil, and I will accept no substitutes.”

“Perhaps we are both as made as most believe us to be,” he said, walking his fingers up her spine.

She shivered. “Perhaps we are,” she said, absently playing with a lock of silky, silvery hair. “I find I care less and less.” She paused. “You cannot leave me, Thranduil,” she said. “I do not care who tries to talk you to your senses, to make you believe I would be better off without you. I will never leave you, but you can also never, _ever_ leave me.”

He sat her up so he could look her at her, and while there was indulgence in his eyes, there was also a trace of worry. “Where is this coming from?”

“Sooner or later, Legolas will come home, and he will try to divide us,” Tauriel said. “He will play on both our insecurities with the best of intentions, and we cannot let him succeed. You must promise me that no matter what he says, you will not leave me, or send me away.”

She laid both her hands on Thranduil’s shoulders, shoving him further backward onto the divan, upending his wine. “You took everything from me, Thranduil,” she said, staring down into his eyes. “You will not take away all I have acquired in return. You. Will. _Not_.” She couldn’t bear it if everything she had gained from her captivity was stripped from her. Should it be taken, only the captivity and her grief would remain. She did not know what she would do then, and she didn’t want to find out.

Thranduil stared at her a long moment, searching her face. He didn’t answer – instead, he pulled her down and kissed her.

It was a chaste kiss, soft and sweet, not lingering long, but there was a depthless well of emotion, of _need_ not physical but spiritual. “I promise you, Tauriel,” he said, his breath a warm ghost against her lips, “nothing will take me from you, or you from me.”

It – and more importantly, the honestly in it – was what she needed to hear. She kissed him, just as light, just as chaste, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Good,” she said, stroking the line of his jaw. “If I lost you, I would die.” She was not exaggerating, either; returning to her old life now would never be enough. It was twisted, it was _wrong_ , and she did not care. She might not – _could not_ – love Thranduil, but she _needed_ him like she needed air. How strange that not so long ago she had felt suffocated by him, yet now she would suffocate without him. At least she knew that the same would happen to him, without her.

“Neither of us will lose the other,” he said, stroking her shoulder. “I would kill any but Legolas who tried to separate me from you.”

“No other would be so foolish. They will grow accustomed to this, in time.”

“They had better,” Thranduil said, wrapping his arms around her. “They have no other choice.”

\--

Thranduil woke the next morning with a terrible sense of foreboding.

Tauriel, worn out from training, was still asleep, curled against his side. He had a horrible urge to lock her away, safe, because he had a premonition that something dreadful would happen this day.

You cannot, he told himself, tucking her hair behind her ear. He no longer had any fear at all that she would leave him, but he was quite certain something was about to try to take her from him.

Well. It would not get the chance yet. She didn’t wake when he kissed her temple, which was just as well. He had to think, and he did not need interruption.

He went to run himself a bath, and debated a glance of breakfast wine. His clarity of thought was not welcome.

Tauriel’s possessiveness was wholly unlike her – unlike her, and unhealthy. Even he could not deny that. He had…had _infected_ her, filled her with his own poison. She was as desperate now as he.

But what could he do? Even if he could bring himself to part with her – which he knew he could not – doing so would destroy her. She needed him now as much as he needed her, and it was all his fault.

He sank into the hot water, turning the problem over in his mind. He could not leave her, for her sake now as well as his. And even if he somehow… _cured_ her, she would be left bereft.

They both needed a cure. They needed a chance to do this properly, without madness or imprisonment, but he had no idea how to go about it. He had been this way for so long that he did not know if he could _be_ cured. Should her curse be broken, should she be made whole and leave him, still he would want her, and that would drive him mad beyond repair. And Tauriel…Tauriel had been broken even before he locked her up. Neither had been anything like whole going into this.

Somehow, he thought, leaning back against the side of the tub and shutting his eyes, they needed help. But he could not seek it without informing Tauriel – he could not make her think he in any way wanted to be parted from her. There would be no truly starting over, not after all that he had done, but surely there had to be _some_ way of dealing with this that would not destroy one or both of them.

Thranduil wanted Tauriel. _Needed_ her. Their fëa were entwined now – there would be no real separation, no matter who anyone did or did not want. But last night he had finally recognized the look in her eyes – and he ought to have sooner, given that he saw it in his own mirror every day.

He had changed Tauriel, all unknowing. The combination of grief and captivity had made her malleable in ways she never would have been otherwise, and his madness truly had poisoned her. And however selfish he was, however desperate his need for her, he could not let that go on.

The trick would be convincing her of that. It was a realization he had been forced to come to on his own, and she was every bit as stubborn as he. She would not want to hear it – would read it as him seeking some way to rid himself of her – but she could not go on like this. _They_ could not. Somehow, he needed to convince her that he in no way wished to part from her before seeking help.

Not that he knew how to see it to begin with. He _did not_ want anyone outside his kingdom to know of this, but he did not know if even the best of his healers would be up to such a monumental task.

It was a problem he would have to meditate on, and meanwhile, hope his vague fears were unfounded.

\--

It was rare that Tauriel overslept, but she had this morning. Unsurprisingly, Thranduil had already left for the day, though he had left a covered try of breakfast by the fire to keep warm. She took it outside, to eat in the morning sunshine, and wondered just what she was really doing.

Was she manipulating Thranduil’s feelings for her? Probably. The bigger question was, what did _she_ truly feel for _him_?

She wanted to love him, wanted to be _able_ to love him, but always, always there was the memory of the chain. Strange, how that in particular stuck with her, when there had been so much else. The chain hadn’t even been on for very long, but it never should have been used at all. None of this should have happened.

_You should not stay_ , she thought, for the hundredth time. _You should not be Aredhel._ Why _did_ she stay, really? Was it purely for companionship, or did she, in some warped, unhealthy way, love Thranduil? If she did…she was in trouble.

A _lot_ of trouble. And possibly, so was he.

No matter what he felt for her, he _was_ already married, and while they hadn’t violated his promise to his wife, they were definitely skirting the line. What they had was not physical, so he was not technically a bigamist in the eyes of the Valar, but still. As long as it was not truly love – as long as it was twisted infatuation on his part, and a craving for companionship on hers – they were safe. But had things not played out this way – had he approached her normally, and earned her love in truth – they would still have had a very big problem.

Re-marriage among Elves was not unheard-of, but it was _extremely_ rare, because it required the first spouse being willing to remain in the Halls of Mandos until the end of time – or, in darker cases, Mandos being unwilling to let them out again. Aredhel herself, should she be re-born, would not have had to worry about Eöl ever finding her again, because after Eöl’s crimes, there was no way Mandos would ever be persuaded to release him. He and Fëanor would be reduced to playing cards in a corner until the end of the world.

But the Queen would surely choose to be reborn, sooner or later. Her death had been terrible and violent, by all accounts, but her fëa would heal under Mandos’s keeping, and she would not be happy to find her husband had taken a…a spiritual wife, if not a carnal one. And if Thranduil and Tauriel did truly love one another – even if only his love was real – he had already done just that.

She should leave. She should not give the poor Queen more cause for weeping than she already had, but she had not been exaggerating when she told Thranduil she would die without him now. And that was as cruel of him to her as it was to the Queen.

It was with a heavy heart that she rose, and took her barely-touched breakfast inside.

She should not stay with Thranduil, but neither could she endure the long, slow process of Fading from her heartbreak without him. He was far older than her, and had Legolas to live for; she had nothing to halt her Fading.

Horrible as it was, she knew what she had to do. She had to save the Queen’s heart, and had to save Thranduil from himself.

At least this time she would leave him a note.

\--

Thranduil’s sense of foreboding dread had grown all morning, formless though it remained. By the time his Council meeting ended, (at which Lord Falchon had droned on and on), he had an irresistible urge to return to his rooms. Something had gone very, very wrong, or was about to.

He hurried as fast as he could without actually running, ignoring the startled looks of all he passed, and by the time he reached his rooms, his dread had morphed into outright terror. And when he burst through the door, he saw why.

Tauriel sat on the floor, that thrice-damned letter opener in her right hand, the tip rested on her left wrist. A tiny bead of blood had welled up around it, and the memory of her lying in a pool of it, her arms torn open, hit him with the force of a meteor.

No words could he find – instead he all but flew to her, snatching her right arm with a force that would bruise later. He cut his own hand when he wrenched the thing from hers, flinging it into the fireplace.

She turned her tearstained face to his. “Why did you do that?” she asked dully.

Thranduil gathered her close, so close it must have hurt. “Tauriel, Tauriel, what have I done now?”

“ _You_ did nothing,” she said, her voice muffled when she pressed her face against his shoulder, “except fall in love with me. You are _married_ , Thranduil, whether your wife be in Valinor or Mandos’s keeping. We cannot do this to your wife, no matter how long your lives have been sundered.”

_Oh, Tauriel_. He had not wanted to say this – had never, ever wanted to _show_ her this – but it seemed he had no choice. “Tauriel, have you never stopped to wonder how it is that I could love again at all? Why I have grieved my wife so terribly all these centuries, when I should have resigned myself to the knowledge that I would one day see her again in Valinor?”

She shook her head.

“Tauriel, what I will show you will disturb you,” he said, “but you must see it, if you are to understand. Look at me.” His embrace eased enough to allow her to lean back, but for a moment she didn’t move.

When she finally did, her eyes were still bright with tears. Letting the glamor fall so that she might see his face was one of the hardest things he had ever done – physically as well as mentally, for by now it was so ingrained that it was part of him now, dropped only by strength of will.

Her eyes widened, but she did not recoil, as he had feared she would. “How…?”

“There is a reason I did not aid the Dwarves, when Erebor fell,” he said, easing the glamor back into place. “I know all too much of dragonfire.”

“But…Eldar heal,” she said. “Never have I heard of such a wound lasting beyond a century.”

“Dragonfire is a strange thing,” he said, stroking her tears from her face with his thumbs. “My face wad damaged beyond repair – and so was my wife’s fëa. She rests comfortably in Mandos’s Halls, but her fëa is…dormant. It will never recover, or even wake. Her hröa was consumed utterly, but while a fëa can never truly be destroyed, it can be crippled beyond hope of healing. She is truly lost to me forever.”

“How can you know this?” Tauriel asked.

“Because Mandos told me so, after I had cursed his name one too many times,” Thranduil said, a little dryly in spite of his grief. “He told me I must move on, but I damaged that, as I damage all that I touch.”

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, reaching up, her fingers hovering just over his skin.

He rested his cheek on her hand. “Not when you are near. We are broken, Tauriel, the both of us, and your breaking is entirely my fault, but I would keep you forever, if you would have me – but we cannot go on as we are.”

“But we cannot fix each other,” she said, tracing her fingers over his face. “Your madness is what made you love me. What if your love dies with it? Where will that leave me?”

_Destroyed_ , he thought, _utterly_. “I could never stop loving you, Tauriel,” he said. “You were one-half of my everything long before this obsession started, however loath I was to admit it. I knew it was wrong even then, for you were so young, and I so very, very damaged.”

“I wish you had said something then,” she said, leaning against him and wrapping her arms around him, head rested on his shoulder, “and spared us…this. Thranduil, what do we do, if we cannot be…cured? I was not jesting when I said I would die without you.”

“Did you really think I would not follow you to Mandos, had I arrived to find you dead?” he asked, stroking her hair. “I do not know what will happen if no cure can be found – only that I could never part with you, whether either of us wished it or not. If by the Valar we are doomed to remain as we are, mad we will remain together.”

He did not want to summon Galadriel. He absolutely _did not_ want to do it, because he would much rather none outside his kingdom know of this, but she might well be the only one who could fix them.

And if she could not…he did not know. Whatever happened, they were too close now to be sundered. What they had with one another was warped and unhealthy, but there was no breaking it now.

“Promise me you will not do that again,” he said, when she gave no answer. “Whatever comes, death is not the answer for either of us. I am mad and dangerous, and even now you are not safe with me, but I love you.”

“You are not exactly safe with me, either,” she admitted. “I have thought of the chain. And not of its use on me.”

_That_ …was truly disturbing. Tauriel was further gone that he had thought. Thranduil hooked his finger under her chin, tilting her head up, and he gave her another kiss on the lips, lingering but chaste. He _could_ want more, if ever he allowed it of himself, but he knew Tauriel did not, so he kept any potential desire locked carefully away. If he did not feel it, she would not sense it from him, and would not be disturbed. Never would he ask – or let himself want – what she would not give.

“We are each as mad as the other,” he said, kissing her again, very lightly. “I do not yet know who to trust, to aid us in this. For I am uncertain we can fully trust Galadriel.”

“Why do you have such distaste for her?” Tauriel asked, tucking her head under his chin.

“She is as close to omniscient as any being on this shore can be,” he said, resting his cheek on her hair. “And that is quite apart from her Mirror. All minds are laid bare to her without touch, and she can see that which is far away without a Palantír. She is more powerful than any one Elf should be – but at least that serve us well. I do not think she would destabilize the Woodland Realm by driving me mad. Madder.”

“She would not have one of the Three if she were not benevolent,” Tauriel said. “If she can at all aid us, I am willing to trust her.”

Thranduil didn’t get a chance to respond, for, without so much as knocking, a wild-eyed Legolas burst into the room.

The child always did have terrible timing.

**Author's Note:**

> Good Thranduil. Recognizing you have a problem is the first step to recovery, however long and arduous the rest of the process might be. Legolas, however, really does have truly terrible timing.


End file.
